


Wild Is The Wind

by Midnight_w0nder



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt is a loving husband, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier doesn't process his emotions, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskiers granny dies, M/M, They Are Husbands, They love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28812498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_w0nder/pseuds/Midnight_w0nder
Summary: Grief was a heavy thing. It settled deep in Jaskier's bones, numbing all his other senses to the world around him and making him step into oblivion.Jaskier did not think he was strong enough to carry the weight of his love for his grandmother alone. He needed her to share it with, but she was gone.And he was alone with all the love he had left for her.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	Wild Is The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is a completely self-indulgent fic. My grandmother died in lockdown, and some days I'm ok with it and some days I'm not.  
> And I thought how would Jaskier deal with grief? Because his whole character is about pleasing others and rarely does he take time for himself, and tbh we all just need a loving Geralt in our life.

Grief was a heavy thing. It settled deep in Jaskier's bones, numbing all his other senses to the world around him and making him step into oblivion. 

Jaskier did not think he was strong enough to carry the weight of his love for his grandmother alone. He needed her to share it with, but she was gone.

And he was alone with all the love he had left for her.

Jaskier hadn’t gotten out of bed in two days, not that Geralt was counting. He hadn’t seen this side to him before, the one that was the dramatic and flamboyant performer who sang and skipped. No. This Jaskier remained silent while Nina Simone quietly echoed in the room on vinyl, her voice haunting everything that Geralt did. 

“Jask?” Geralt called, opening the door. Roach was lying in the bed next to him, her head resting on Jaskier's side. Her golden ears flopped down as if she could feel the sadness that seemed to course through the other.

“Jask, you want to tell me what's going on?” Geralt asked quietly, sitting down on his seat and wheeling it over so he could be opposite his husband.

Jaskier blinked a few times, looking up at Geralt and sighing.

“Granny’s dead.”   
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Geralt breathed. He knew how close Jaskier was to his grandmother, the endless phone calls between the two, the bitching and giggling. Geralt had carried the two of them out of clubs completely drunk one too many times.

“Because… Because I can’t do anything,” he choked out. “I can’t travel to the funeral. I can’t be there. Because this fucking pandemic,” Jaskier forced the words out, tears threatening to spill. “I am powerless.”

“Where’s the funeral?”

“Poland,” he sighed. “Stupid damned bitch wanted to be buried in Poland instead of here,” he rasped. “Instead of where I could visit her, instead of where I could be nearby. Instead of where I could bury here in the middle of a lock down but she was too-” he stopped, burying his face in his hands and sobbing.

Geralt looked at his own hands then at Roach, who was giving him her judging look and almost saying ‘well do something’.

Geralt shifted awkwardly, looking around and then nodding.

“We’ll have our own funeral.”

“What?”

“We’ll go to the park that you always took her to, I’ll burn something so we have ashes and we can scatter them, then we can make a little stone mount by the seats.”

“Geralt..”

“We’re doing it. You need closure. And this is a temporary closure, no?” he asked, looking at Jaskier. 

His husband sat up, rubbing his face and nodding slowly. “It’s a temporary closure.”   
“I can’t fly you to Poland, I can’t stop the pandemic, but I can help you,” he whispered, moving to sit on the bed next to Jaskier and pressing his forehead to his husbands.

“But I can’t do these things unless you talk to me, Jask,” Geralt breathed. “I know you are a performer, but sometimes it’s ok to let your show down. It's ok to drop the façade. It’s only me,” he breathed. “Dear heart, it’s me. You don’t need to keep pretending to be something you’re not,” Geralt moved closer, pulling Jaskier into a hug.

“And I love you, you’re my husband. We have a life together, and if you ever need to talk, I will always listen,” he said quietly.

Geralt could feel the dampness from Jaskier's crying but he wouldn’t remark on it. He let his husband cry, silent and painfully, he knew it was what he needed. And Geralt tried his hardest to give him everything he needed.

~0~

They had picked a quiet day to have their ‘funeral’. Eskel and Lambert agreed to come along, as well as Ciri and Yennefer. They all had known Granny Pankratz, they all had experienced her cooking, and her hitting them (lovingly) with a wooden spoon. Together they stood at the corner of the bird park she insisted she visited every time she visited.

Jaskier stood centre, wearing bell trousers and a velvet jacket, holding the small box that Geralt had put the ashes into. They weren’t just ashes, he had burned flowers and herbs so that they smelt nice, picking a list of everything Granny Pankratz loved. 

“Thank you for coming,” he said quietly. “I actually am not very good with words. I’m good at letting people hear what they want to hear, but when it comes to speaking for myself, I’m rather clueless,” he chuckled, he looked at the box and then back up at the sky.

“Granny Pankratz loved Nina Simone. I don’t know why, but she just did. She made me listen to all her vinyl's, but now that I’m older I understand her words more than when I was a kid,” he took a breath and closed his eyes, then Geralts little lark began to sing.

“ _ Don't you know you're life itself _

_ Like a leaf clings to a tree _

_ Oh my darling, cling to me _

_ For we're creatures of the wind _

_ And wild is the wind _

_ So wild is the wind _

_ You touch me _

_ I hear the sound of mandolins _

_ You kiss me _

_With your kiss my life begins_ ” Geralt had heard this song, he recognised it from the music that Jaskier had been playing over the last few days. 

He knew the heart break of that song. 

And gently, Jaskier opened the lid of the ashes and scattered them to the wind. Geralt moved to stand next to him, letting Jaskier lean against him slightly for reassurance.

“You did great,” he whispered into his ear. Jaskier nodded, smiling tearily at him.

“I hope she’s happy. She probably did this intentionally, just to annoy me,” he chuckled, wiping his eyes. Geralt kissed Jaskiers temple, squeezing his hand and smiling.

“It wouldn’t be your grandmother if she didn’t make your life a little bit more difficult, would it,” he smiled. Jaskier laughed, tears flowing freely now.

“I love her so much,” he choked out, letting his head fall to Geralts chest. Geralt enveloped him straight away. Eskel locked eyes with him and nodded, silently ushering the others to leave, letting Jaskier have this moment of private with his husband.

“Come now, Jask. We’ll set the stones here, ok? Jaskier, look at me,” Geralt held Jaskiers face in his hands, gently brushing his thumbs over his cheeks.

“Breathe, Jask. Breathe,” he soothed. Jaskier nodded, sniffling and holding the little bundle of flowers he had gathered; purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Geralt set the stones in place and let Jaskier place the flowers on top of them. He averted his gaze, letting Jaskier kneel down and kiss the stones in private, not wanting to intrude on that moment.

He did, however, extend his hand with his palm open and waited patiently. After a few seconds, Jaskier took it. 

Geralt gave his hand a squeeze and brought Jaskier's knuckles to his lips.

“We can visit every day if you want, or once a week, or twice a month. Whatever you need to do, we can do it,” he began walking, still holding onto Jaskiers hand.

“Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

“I love you.”

“... I love you too, Dandelion.” 


End file.
